The Stone Lady
by Dora Mugworts
Summary: As she prepares at last to receive the One's gift to Men, Éowyn remembers those who have gone before...and those who will follow after.


Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to the heirs of J.R.R. Tolkien, not me. Darn. Also, Elfwine's words to Éowyn at Éomer's death are a partial paraphrasing of what King George V wrote in his diary when his father King Edward died.

Warning: I CRIED BUCKETS WHILE WRITING THIS FIC! I rarely cry over stories, and I have NEVER cried over one of my own.

Thank you ever so much to my amazing beta reader Key. Wulfget belongs to the web mistress of Horsemaster.

The Stone Lady

She stands straight-backed and proud, a sword in one hand, a shovel in the other, and a shield at her side. The inhabitants of Ithilien erected her for my birthday many years ago. To this day, the local children still call her "the stone lady." I protested half-heartedly, for she did not resemble me greatly. Yet in truth, I was very pleased and deeply honoured.

If my stone twin did not resemble me then, she looks nothing like me now. My hair is now snow-white, and the tales of my years are written upon my face. I, Éowyn daughter of Éomund, of Rohan and Ithilien, am now one hundred and nine years old. By the reckoning of the Rohirrim I am an ancient of days, for not even King Aldor the Old lived so long as I have. Many of those whom I loved have departed the world. By times I can see them as they were in life.

My brother has been gone nearly twenty years. When the word came that King Éomer was dead, a grief seized Rohan that was unlike anything I could have imagined. Many _Éomeringas _had never known, and none but the very oldest could remember a time when another monarch had reigned. Éomer they loved dearly.

None grieved more than Lothíriel and their children; whereas Rohan's dowager queens of old had worn their widow's raiment for a year, Lothíriel wore hers for two. Their strong, happy union had endured for sixty-four years. Seven years after Éomer's passing, she followed him. While only my eldest nephew knows the full extent of his own grief, I came to understand something of it when he wrote to me, "Aunt, this is terrible. I have lost my best friend and the best of fathers, with whom I had not a cool or unkind word in my life. I am _heartbroken _with grief, yet devoted to becoming the sort of king in which he would have taken pride. Of course, my beloved Wulfget will continue to be the dear support and comfort she has always been." Wulfget did. Bréaláf, Wulfhelm, and Ivriniel expressed like sentiments, and stood beside their brother with every step.

King Elessar, Queen Evenstar, Legolas, Gimli, Faramir and I shed tears of blood for Éomer. Soon, however, our grief turned to pride in Elfwine as he grew into his office and carried on with his father's good work. Did Arwen realize, as we stood side by side with Rohan's new dowager queen that this was what the future held for her? I realized then what a beautiful gift Lothíriel had given Éomer. If I knew my brother at all, he had fought death to the end, and yet the one he loved best in the entire world had been with him at the last. Though my sister by marriage received only grief in return, she had spared Éomer of ever being lonely again.

Faramir and I spoke few words when we returned from Éomer's burial. Late that night, he asked me, "Do the Rohirrim fear death, Éowyn?" 

I was silent for some moments before I replied. "Death is said to be the last great adventure, and no mortal can tell what may be on the other side of its door. How we approach that door is dependent on what we leave behind. For one who comes from fear and pain and loss it must be as though stepping into the sun from a house of shadows. For one such as Éomer, who had achieved much and was well beloved, it can only be a venture into the unknown; whether it be for good or ill, none can tell." My voice quivered. "He must have gone bravely, for Lothíriel and Meriadoc told me how stoic he was at the end. Yet what of his sadness at leaving behind those whom he loved, quite possibly forever?"

Faramir looked gravely. "Would he not have welcomed release from his labours, and the chance to have his burden lifted? Someday we shall be released from the labour of living."

I started. "And what if the ties of love that bind us to the world are stronger than our desire for release?" My voice rose. "Éomer had a wife, four children, twelve grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren who utterly adored him, and whom he adored, to say nothing of the love his subjects bore him. You saw the mourning into which they have plunged! Weary or not, he gave it all up when he died and fought against it until the end, if I knew him." I swallowed, and Faramir moved to sit beside me. "As for you and I" The tears that had brimmed in my eyes now spilled over.

My husband drew my head to his chest. "Forgive me, dearest," he murmured as he stroked my hair, "I did not think."

As my sobs subsided, I trusted myself to whisper, "I have no desire to leave you, Faramir – not now, and not ever."

Since that day, we have not spoken of the true feelings of the passage of death. Not that other chances have not presented themselves. Friends, family, servants, all have gone beyond. Still Faramir and I remain. Not for one day have I regretted spending my life with him. By all reckoning I should have been the first of us to go, yet it will not be so. It cannot. Too soon did my husband lose his mother. His brother was cut down in the flower of his manhood. As for his father, he died without knowing how deeply Faramir loved him. I swore many years ago that I would not let him suffer my loss too, and that I would fight death's shadow as long as was needed to see to it. Who can tell if I have succeeded? For though I yet live and am still hale in mind and body, I am very weary. If Faramir senses my battle, as I am certain he must, he says naught. Is it selfishness that makes me wish for all the time with him that I might take, or is it selfishness that makes him wish for all the time with me that he might take? Yet of late it has seemed that he too grows weary of the world, and may soon choose to lay aside his burden, as the Dúnedain do.

One morning I awoke to the sunlight trickling through our window. I lay there for some moments, savouring the sound of Faramir's breathing, and the warmth of his body beside me. He smiled when he awoke. "Éowyn." I kissed him. He drew me into his arms, and we coupled. After completion, I recalled the first time we made love: it had seemed that the three weeks until our wedding night was too long to wait. It had been as beautiful then as it was now; only I knew in my heart that this would be our last time.

Sometime past midday Faramir and I wrapped ourselves in cloaks and went walking in the garden we had planted ourselves so long ago and tended so faithfully. He sat beside me on the wooden bench we had carved at the same time. Time and weather had worn it dull and faded, but I still loved it. Silently he laid his head upon my lap, and I needed do no more than stroke his hair. At last he turned his face up to mine and nestled his head in the crook of my elbow. "Did you know, Éowyn," and Faramir reached up his hand and caressed my cheek, "that marrying you was the best day's work I ever did?" I could not speak. "No man could ever demand a more faithful friend, or a dearer partner, or a better wife, or a better mother for his children."

I had to tell him the truth. "Knowing and loving you, Faramir, was the most fortunate thing that ever happened to me." He smiled, and his face simply shone with love. This was the love he had felt when I said him yes, when Éomer wed Lothíriel and our family ties grew stronger, and when our children and grandchildren were born. This was the love that would spare the grief, quell the fears, and ease the passing of those who were dear to him – things I was now thwarting him of the chance to do. Instead, I would do them for him. For Faramir, loving was as easy as breathing. 

His eyes closed, and had I made the attempt I might have deluded myself into believing that he had settled into no more than the slumber of mid-afternoon, so peaceful did he look. I had not cried, and of that I was proud; I would not have had his last mortal sight be of me in tears. I marvelled at him. How could one man be so giving of himself and ask for nothing in return? My love for Faramir, though boundless, had always seemed inadequate to me by comparison; here, at last, was something of worth that I had given him.

I cannot tell much of Faramir's funeral save of my burning wish that I was being entombed along with him. Soon, very soon, I would be, for whither Faramir went so I would follow. I stood on the other side of a great chasm, and saw not my sons and daughters as they came forward to bear witness; nor did I hear the words of my queen as she stood beside me. When the tomb closed, I heard a sound that seemed to echo in the very heights of Menel and depths of Arda; it soared like a great Eagle and wounded like a Nazgûl dart. "Faramir!" My sons caught me by the arms as I swayed, and only then did I realize that the sound had come from me.

After Faramir was entombed, there was naught left for me to do save set my will in order. This task had been mostly completed for several years, so it did not take me long. Soon, very soon, I would be with my beloved again – a hope that I now _knew_ in my heart to be fact. The morning after my will was made legal, I retrieved a flask I had hidden long ago when I first made my vow to outlive Faramir. I knew that the brew inside had grown more potent with age. Potency was what I required. Behind me I heard the approach of Moreth, our serving woman, who knew what I planned to do. "Is there naught that I can say to dissuade you, my lady?"

"No, Moreth. My life's duties have been completed and I am no longer needed. Thank you for all your kindness and loyalty." I kissed her cheek. "When I have left, please see that our home is prepared for my son and his household." I drained the flask in one motion. The brew was sweet. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, my lady."

I passed through our gates. Snow yet clung to the ground, but the year's first flowers had begun to emerge from their mantle and the sun shone warmly. I ran. Ithilien was brighter than I had ever seen it. I ran until I came to the spot I wished for. My people had erected the stone lady out of their love and respect, and I wished to leave the world cradled in that goodwill. I had not long to wait, for drowsiness akin to the onset of sleep soon found me. Before my eyes closed for the last time, my life sped before me: childhood in the Eastfold and Meduseld, my uncle when he was his own man, the end of the War of the Ring, my long years as Princess of Ithilien, the joy and pride of motherhood and grandmotherhood, dear friendsand Faramir, my dear, beautiful, beloved Faramir.

~

Éowyn knew not the grief of her people as they entombed her at her husband's side. She did not see King Elessar's face haggard with grief as he knelt by her tomb to bid his old friend farewell. Queen Evenstar's elegy – said to be among the most sincere and heartfelt Gondor had ever read or heard – never reached her ears. Elboron, Elfwine, Legolas, and Gimli now took Éowyn's place in supporting the queen through her grief. "You have taken her place by my side, but none shall ever replace Éowyn in my heart," Arwen affirmed to them. The late mother, aunt, and friend would have been honoured to hear the queen, but she did not.

Éowyn neither saw nor heard nor knew nothing of what came to pass after she left the world. She had found a place more beautiful than any mortal could have understood while contained within the world's circles, and in her joy could only wait for the day when the ones she had left behind would join her.

The End


End file.
